


Dog Day

by theAsh0



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Careful of Dog love, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, good dog, literally the best dog, reference to animal cruelty, strays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:41:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theAsh0/pseuds/theAsh0
Summary: Based on FlamingoQueen's Blue-eyed Matador. the Dog. Fic. Dog meets team Avengers. Dog is a Very Good Dog. Team Avengers is clueless.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 58





	Dog Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blue-eyed matador](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881344) by [FlamingoQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingoQueen/pseuds/FlamingoQueen). 



> special thanks to oper_1895 for wonderfull beta work! thank you so much!

Dog thinks she is a pretty good dog. Not pretty, mind you. But a good dog. 

Because a good dog, beyond else, is not  _ just _ humie’s best friend; it is  _ more _ than a friend. A good dog is the one who cares for you and loves you beyond all else. Someone who will keep an eye out and hug you when you need it. Yes, not just a friend, but a brother and a child and maybe a mom too.

Once, before the not-such-a-good-bossie, and the possibly-needs-more-love-than-one-dog-can-give, and the might-have-forgotten-her-on-the-road-side-bossie, and the accident-that-must-have-been-an-accident-because-no-one-takes-a-dog’s-eye-on-purpose, she had had a pup.

Just one pup, one live pup, and it had been weak and sickly. But Dog had loved it and worked hard, and the little one had pulled through, thanks to the sheer power of mom-dog love. 

Dog never had a litter again, and didn’t stay with the breeders with all the sweet little pups, but her baby had made it, had found a home and love, and to Dog, that was all that mattered.

It was just a shame, because Dog was the kind of Dog that overflowed with love. She would have liked to keep on caring for pups, even if they had not been hers.

She knew she was hard to love; hard to love back. But sometimes the young people that came to play at the ruins where she stayed were kind, sometimes they gave her scraps or talked to her. Played with her a little.

They never hugged though. Never even petted her. 

Dog knew why: she  _ smelled _ . Smelled so bad it would be hard to find a humie to love her back. Also it was a shame about her eye, and her fur. But mostly it had to be the smell. Not one of them wanted to touch her, and who could blame them when she smelled of sickness and death? So Dog had long given up finding a home, a family, or even a true friend.

But then, one night, she found RoadKill. Or, RoadKill found her. And Dog found purpose again.

She called him RoadKill, because he looked like he had been hit by a truck. Or perhaps several consecutive trucks. And then by one on fire. 

Smelled like roadkill too. Like death, yet still moving?

Still, Dog knew smells could be deceiving. Just because they both smelled bad, it didn’t mean they  _ were _ bad? And, even if RoadKill moved wrong and strange, he had not moved to strike her. Also, since they both smelled so terribly, how could one make the other any worse? So Dog did what she was good at, and offered her love.

Love is special. Love never runs out, never runs you dry. And in giving one receives just as much in return. Is rewarded with love multiplied. As long as Dog gave it to one willing to receive. To one that would not push Dog away or strike her down.

RoadKill didn’t strike Dog, didn’t push her away and Dog knew that he would not in the future. She had found a good...

Was it a Humie? He still smelled like road-kill to her. Of bad things and blood and fire and death. Things she might have turned our nose up at, back in the day she was clean and young and whole.

She wondered if the children had thrown firecrackers at RoadKill as well. She wondered if RoadKill knew that had meant to be a harmless prank; that hitting him or Dog must have been a mistake. 

Whatever, it didn't matter. She stayed with RoadKill, following him when he left their hidden lair, and she didn’t regret it for a moment. Had honestly made it her new mission to love the weird broken creature that should have been unbreakable. Had meant to stay forever with the big, strong monster that still somehow reminded her of her tiny, little, weak pup.

Yet today, she finds herself separated from RoadKill after all. She cannot follow his trail or find his scent. It’s fine though, it would be okay. She trusts RoadKill to be well without her, for a little while. Trusts that they would meet again, soon, either her catching the whiff of him, or him returning to her on his own. RoadKill was strong and chew-proof and she had filled him up with so much love that a few hours, few days without her should not hurt him too badly.

In the meantime, she is stuck with a new litter of... pups?

They were an odd bunch, her new litter. Humies without any doubt. Just as big and grown as RoadKilll, yet somehow completely  _ helpless _ without Dog. Shocking. Road-Kill had also lacked in self-care skills, but these little ones are proving to need a Mother Dog's love even more so. 

This is what her new litter of four:

First of all, there was PizzaGuy. Like RoadKill he seemed to favour chew-proof covering in dark shades that reminded Dog of chew-toys, leashes and bags. Instead, PizzaGuy wore leash-chew-toy on his legs, on his chest. On his wrist? Which was weird and kinda an attention-grabber, but did remind Dog of RoadKill in a good way. Besides, PizzaGuy was a bit weird all together, hiding himself one moment then doing or saying something so spectacularly stupid he was the center of attention. Point in fact, the reason Dog dubbed him PizzaGuy: after proclaiming himself dog-expert of the team had promptly proved himself wrong by offering pizza as a viable alternative to real dog-food.

Now, Dog of course would never shun a meal. And she'd accepted pizza from RoadKill easily enough. But she was inside an actual  _ house  _ now, with actual humies. Dog had not actually been raised in a barn, you know. She had manners. She had standards.

Luckily, the second guy of her new litter notices her hesitance and protests with an overabundance of sounds and gestures, then eventually makes a call to have some real dog food delivered within the hour. This guy has a manic, almost vibrating aura about him that Dog recognises from an ex owner with chronic sleeping problems, and a whiff that calls into thought engines, so Dog decides to dub him InsomniacMachine.

Still, they have to wait for said dog-food. And that means staying in the room with her four new-found humies. And that means someone -no, likely everyone, is going to notice the smell. Dog’s smell.

Another two minutes and her entire, possibly temporary, litter agrees that Dog needs A Bath. And PizzaGuy, their self-proclaimed dog whisperer, shushes any impending argument on how to give this bath, by claiming: "I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry!” 

Now, to be sure, Dog is all on board for The Bath thing. Dog did not, in fact, enjoy stinking to high heavens. So Dog tries to be a good dog. really. But when PizzaGuy is done running her a giant bath of oddly steaming water full of oddly gleaming bubbles — where did they come from?-- and also very intimidatingly  _ strong _ smells. And when PizzaGuy picks her up in his arms and turns her so she is directly over that bubbling lava of smells. 

Well, she really does try to be a Good Dog and hold perfectly still.

Yet, well. Dog is heavier than she looks. It’s all the mud in her fur, she thinks. And also, staying with RoadKill had been rewarding in more ways than one; she had been gaining all the weight she had lost before. The fat and muscle returning to her in equal measure with long walks following RoadKill and good meals finding him. 

But, yes. She might have... _ twitched _ . 

Just a tiny bit, right over that weird perfumed bath-tub.

Regardless, she can tell PizzaGuy tries desperately not to let her fall (he is, really, a  _ Good Humie. _ Very good. Dog would have picked him, if not for RoadKill coming first), but then he slips, and then _ somehow _ lands into the bathtub, and --somehow—  _ underneath _ Dog.

Which results in a lot of spluttering and flailing from PizzaGuy, a lot of panicked yipping and scrambling from Dog, and a soaking bathroom with all three of the Humies outside trying the door, asking PizzaGuy if he is okay in there.

Dog finally finds a way out of the tub-with-failing-man, shoots for it. Tries not to step on PizzaGuy’s face on her way, tries not to dunk him and bruise him any more than he must already be... She knows she fails, but at least finds herself standing one wet tiles instead of drowning her own poor pup.

Without Dog pushing him under, PizzaGuy manages to extract himself from the tu clothing and gear completely soaked, and calls to his family outside that he is ‘fine!” (‘Fine’, Dog thinks, might be a very loose term for PizzaGuy), and just stubbornly went back to The Bathing of Dog. 

It wasn’t easy. Not for Dog, not for PizzaGuy. But Dog kept her cool (mostly), and PizzaGuy just kept at it with single minded determination, and in the end they managed, and Dog was clean, and even mostly dry. 

Looking back, she would say it had been fun actually. In a mildly terrifying way. Of course, PizzaGuy is no longer clean, and absolutely not dry. So when he lets her out of the bathroom, so she could be fed the newly-arrived dog food, he stays inside and proclaims he now has some  _ other things  _ to clean.

As Dog steps into the living room, InsomniacMachine is fiddling with what Dog would have thought was a phone, but really, what does a dog know? Not much about such things. Dog may know a few things about love and family and care, but not anything about Clever Phones, or whatever they are called now. Dog, for her part, had more interest in the food. 

Enter the third pup in her litter. He is a big man, with blond fur on top, and the kind of movements that speak of power and muscles. Shoulders fit for a pack Alpha, a bearing of one used to the admiring stares of likely  _ many _ Humies. 

But when he comes close to Dog, already at the kitchen island, he smiles shyly and crouches down hesitantly. "Hey buddy. Friday also sent a bowl and everything. Shall I fill them up for you?”

How carefully he moves. Almost like he is afraid of Dog, hesitantly filling both the water bowl and kibble dish. 

Or, perhaps, Dog realises, he is afraid Dog will fear him.

Dog blinks at the crouched man, studying how he moves back to give her space. Like she would not dare lower her head where he could reach. Like she would not eat if he remained too close. Like she cannot smell the good intentions and kindness on his skin. Does he think Dog is stupid? Dog is not. She may not know many things, but she knows Love. She knows Good.

And she knows Loss. 

Did his mother not hug this one? Did she not love her big, strong healthy pup? No, that cannot be. It is unthinkable to Dog; all mothers love their pups. Even the weak and sickly ones, even if one fears the Tiny One's next breath will be their last. Even if they fear all that love will come back as mourning, hurting all the more for it. 

This one’s mother must be long gone. No, more than just a mother gone. This one misses. His family, his pack, must be gone as well. Dead, and lost. And he misses them so much.

And perhaps he does not know that there can be a new pack? A new family?

But Dog is the best dog. Because Dog understands, yet Dog never quits or doubts the few things she knows. And it has worked for her, with her baby, and with RoadKill. And it will work again, with this one. Dog dubs this one LonelyHeart and ignores the kibble a moment longer, just to pant and jump on the man and lick his face enthusiastically.

It takes too long, and he laughs and complains about wet fur and poor breath. But she gets there, she hugs her new baby until he responds and hugs her for long minutes.

Dog is a good Dog, and lets him. Just holds still and stands there for a little while, getting hugged. Until Dog decides, what the hell, she can multitask. And starts to eat.

After dinner, when Dog is full and the Humies too have sat at their table and dined, Dog seeks out the fourth and final member of her litter. The small one. The only girl. 

Dog knows about anxiety. Has seen more than one fellow-stray go mad because of their own suspicion. Baring teeth at a friendly gesture interpreted as a hand about to strike. Snarling even at Dog, when she offered her love. This one has that suspicion in spades, carved deep into her. She must have drawn it around herself like a cloak, hiding and protecting her. 

And yet, this one is barely afraid, here and now. Sits here in the open and reads from a book, almost completely at ease. This little Humie has dug her own holes for air, wrenched herself out of that stifling armor because she must already know that it would have suffocated her with it’s fake safety.

Dog climbs on the couch, next to her where she reads, and observes. And admires. The girl-cub gives him a little smile, then reads on, legs drawn up under her. Dog will call this one IronWill. She is amazing, Dog thinks. To have made it this far with such an anguished soul; to have come to the point where that fear is turned into a weapon that only cuts those deserving to be cut. It is not; cannot have been something she has done  _ alone;  _ not something that she _ could _ have done on her own. Yet still, it is amazing. 

Still, this is no way to live...

Look at this pup. Her fourth one: so serious. Such a heavy heart. She probably never had a day of fun, not even back when she truly was a pup. Has never played with her brothers and sisters, has never run in the park or chased pigeons down the block.

But Dog knows how to fix that. 

Dog jumps down and sniffs around the house, looking for something that carries her girl-pup’s smell. Dog finds it, fast enough: a metal hard shape, slightly longer than Dog’s head, but sleek and thin and wrapped, again, in that animal-hide-chew-free material both RoadKill and PizzaGuy like to wrap their limbs in.

It’s a complete bullseye. The moment Dog pads back into IronWill’s line of sight, she jumps up, the book falling off her lap. A momentary twitch before she makes herself relaxed and calm and friendly. “Where did you find that, Girl?” 

Dog looks up, one eyebrow raised, then turns around and walks off. IronWill right behind her. Sadly, the door to the yard is closed. But Dog lets the pup chase her around for a while before relenting. Dog growls playfully when she surrenders the make-shift toy, and stands in front of the yard door hopefully. Dog thinks IronWill is smart; Dog hopes she will take the hint and play fetch outside. 

Instead, IronWill shakes her head at Dog. “This is a very sharp knife. I’m just glad the sheath didn’t come off. Silly girl.” 

Then hides the play-stick somewhere on her body, and goes back to her book.

IronWill may be strong, but perhaps she is not very smart after all.

It is not a problem. Dog just fetches some more of her things, once, twice, three times. But finally, it is InsomniacMachine that must have had enough of the pathetic show, and decides to intervene. “Girl wants to play fetch, Spiderqueen. Don’t they  _ have _ dogs in Russia?” 

And after that IronWill does take Dog out in the yard and throws sticks for her. At least for an hour, and they might have continued if it wasn’t full dark out by then. When they return inside there’s a healthy flush on IronWill’s face and a spring to her step, and Dog thinks it’s another job well done.

It is then that Dog lets her attention fall back to InsomniaMachine. He is  _ still  _ working on his stupid phone-thing. Though it no longer resembles a phone. It doesn’t matter to Dog. InsomniacMachine has pulled a low table over to the far couch and has been sitting awkwardly bent over his work for the past several hours. Must not have taken a moment’s rest, if the way he keeps rubbing at his neck and cracks his back without even looking up is any indication.

And well, there are just some things Dog will not stand for. So, Dog just jumps up into his arms, electronics spilling from his hands as he sputters at her. She ignores his attempts to throw her off, and IronWill makes the most delightful sound: she is laughing.

Dog turns her head towards IronWill appreciatively. She hadn’t even realised her little girl-pup could make that noise. Still, Dog cannot spare her more attention right now. Dog needs to stay on InsomniacMachine. 

IronWill, proving that perhaps she is only stupid when she herself is the subjects, explains for her. “I think it’s past your nap-time, Tony. I’d get you a blanket, but…” 

Yes. Dog is a good dog, and the best blanket. She will lay on him, until InsomniacMachine sleeps. Or at the very least, rests.

Turns out that when InsomniacMachine finally gives in and stills, exhaustion does the rest. He’s snoring loudly as early morning hours roll around, head thrown backward against the couch’s backrest. Even when LonelyHeart enters InsomniacMachine hardly stirs; though Dog nearly jumps up: she doesn’t like the thought of her pups out at this hour. 

LonelyHeart grins, first at InsomniacMachine then at Dog, and whispers “good dog,” obviously meaning it.

Her big, stupid pup walks into the bathroom as Dog carefully extracts herself from the sleeping humie. Once she's freed herself without disturbing InsomniacMachine’s sleep, Dog feels accomplished at a job well-done. Until she notices the med-kit in LonelyHeart’s hands. “Want to take a walk with me to Barton?” he asks, an apologetic smile at odds with the light gleaming in his eyes. “That last full-dark trickshot didn’t quite go right.” 

Oh, on no! PizzaGuy got himself hurt. _ Again!  _ Like he hadn’t been bruised bad enough from their little stint in the bathroom. Poor PizzaGuy!

Suppressing a whine, Dog follows LonelyHeart out into the morning dawn. Dog is a good dog. But she now knows why she only had a litter of one. Taking care of this many pups is nearly impossible!

  
  



End file.
